


Tables Turned

by Nickidemus



Series: Senses Thought Dead [2]
Category: Supernatural, Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickidemus/pseuds/Nickidemus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lenore can't stay away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tables Turned

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during season one of The Vampire Diaries.

Stefan was somewhat used to theatrics and drama from Damon, but even this was above and beyond. His brother was currently tearing their house apart looking for books, weapons, gathering these things without any clear rhyme or reason. Not to mention that he looked as if he’d been in some kind of fight, an incredibly bloody one that he may not have lost but it was up for debate if he won it.

“Mind cluing me in on what’s going on with you?” Stefan asked, squinting at him as Damon hurried past. “First off, where have you been?”

“Where have I been?” Damon asked. “What about you?”

“I’ve been here…” Stefan began carefully.

“That’s lovely for you,” Damon seethed. “I was being held hostage by a psycho bitch whose origins I’m still fuzzy about. Thanks for the rescue, by the way.”

Stefan shook his head and spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “I had no idea this was happening.”

“You didn’t miss me? Being gone for hours?”

“I figured it was a lot more likely you were the one doing the kidnapping and torturing if anything,” Stefan said matter-of-factly. “Now what was this about?”

Damon tried to give him a succinct and sensible rundown, describing Lenore and what was said. He failed to mention screwing her, how primal and fantastic it’d been, but Stefan seemed to notice the omission. Not what was left out so much as the fact that Damon paused with a distant look on his face.

“It sounds like she has your number,” Stefan murmured. “I hate to sound judgmental—”

“No, you don’t.”

“—But I think maybe this was coming. You’re pretty confident in your ability to be better, faster, and stronger than everyone else. Maybe it was time—”

“She is none of the above,” Damon insisted. “And trust me.” He grinned. “She’s about to get as good as she gave.”

He spent the rest of the night and the majority of the next day searching what books they had on the subject of his own kind. Typically, this would result in an intense bout of boredom for him, as there was nothing he found less engaging than retreading the same, oft-tramped ground, but in this he was determined. He wanted to find the difference, the sub-species, the ancestors. He wasn’t sure if they had the right resources or even enough information, but he came across some interesting tidbits.

Firstly, an illustration of a vampire in its feeding phase, nothing as he or Stefan might appear in their’s. He saw that shark face he’d been so taken aback by, the dark eyes and rows of needle teeth. He was on the right track at least. Next, there was mention of dead man’s blood. He couldn’t honestly say he understood the implications of that until he read further. What a killjoy that must be for poor, lost Lenore, that she couldn’t supplement her diet with dead blood. Poor baby. He simply had to laugh, and he thought the lack of sleep might be catching up to him at this rate.

Lastly, killing methods for any sort of vampire imaginable were lumped together, but he saw something new. Decapitation. Even if it didn’t kill her, he’d have fun doing it.

With his reading done for the day, he gathered a new set of weapons, then took himself to bed. He slept deeply yet not soundly, feeling watched, sensing something dark and wanting just on the edge of his mind.

When he woke, Stefan was there, imparting such words of wisdom as “take a shower” before going on his way.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Damon snarled after him. “What would I do without you!? Leaving me alone, when…” Then he looked out the window. Daylight. Well, chances were he was safe for now.

He got up and realized that while he’d taken his bloody outfit off, he was still liberally splattered. So he probably did need a shower after all. He was doing just that when his keen ears picked up a noise within the house. He was feeling awfully paranoid just lately, so it could’ve been nothing. But he wasn’t about to take that chance.

He shut off the water and threw on his dark jeans and black, button-up shirt, without buttoning either one, then grabbed his weapons of choice from the bedroom. He’d liberally slathered a long knife with old blood, and while he wasn’t sure dried, old blood had any effect, he thought chopping the bitch’s head off would.

Damon went creeping through his own house, down the stairs, in and out of rooms, becoming a little more relieved with each one he found empty. Then he caught her shadow just as she was darting between rooms, and it was a matter of seconds before he grabbed her by the hood of her sweatshirt and jerked her back, gagging her as the collar caught at her throat.

He laid the edge of the blade against her neck and, smiling an entirely unhinged smile, said, “If it isn’t the very person I’ve been wanting to see. Learned some things since I last saw you.”

Lenore had her hands on his arm, but she wasn’t struggling, simply holding herself up as she was in a slightly awkward position and leaning too far back. “Damon—“

“I guess you didn’t realize just how super super-hearing can be,” he tutted. “I heard you over the shower. You walk like an elephant.”

“You don’t understand—”

“The only thing to understand is that it’s my turn,” Damon whispered darkly in the shell of her ear. He reached around and found the zipper on the hoodie she wore, drawing it down.

“Damon,” she said and forced herself to go on quickly enough that he couldn’t interrupt her. Really, he thought her rushed speech was part of her panic and was enjoying it. “I didn’t come here to hurt you or start anything. I came because after our last meeting, I needed to see you again.”

He had been cutting the buttons off of her shirt with the large knife he held, exposing the lacy bra beneath, and he paused now. “Either you are so genuinely afraid that you’re admitting to things that would otherwise leave a bad taste in your mouth…. And don’t pretend. I can see how uptight you are from a mile away. Your asshole is practically a snare drum. Or… big or. You are bluffing because you want to be let go.” He pressed the knife between her breasts until the slip of fabric holding her bra’s cups together snapped. “Choices, choices…” He chuckled dryly then. “Well, not really. Either way, I’ll be treating you just the same.”

“How?” she asked, not missing a beat. “How will you be treating me? Damon, we’ve had this talk. You’d bring down such a battle on this house, this town, as you’ve not seen for centuries.”

“I’d watch it were I you,” he purred. “I’ve seen more blood than a pig-sucking bottom-feeder like you could imagine.”

Lenore grabbed his wrist and whirled in his arms, her hand against his throat and her eyes showing hurt, passion, hunger, all the things she’d pushed down beneath a façade of pleasantry. “Why do you assume I’ve been like this all my life? Was your brother always such a noble beast, who chose from the first day to do the right thing? Is anyone good from the beginning? I wasn’t. I haven’t been always. It’s a struggle.” She laughed, soulless and strained. “I feel like an alcoholic most days, taking things by steps, remembering why I chose this.”

Damon watched her, the knife pressed into her back should she make any false moves. “And? Tell me how this involves me.”

Her calm was starting to return, and she tilted her head at him. “Are you willfully this thick or just naturally?” She felt the knife press into her back more forcefully and clenched her jaw. “I don’t like what you make me think of, mainly my past, and yet I do like it. I’m trying to… learn more about myself, the reasons why I still can’t outrun my darker instincts. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to feel as alive as I did when you were taking me hard against the wall.”

Damon pricked her with the knife again, making her gasp and cling to him, her eyes begging him for mercy. “You’re the thick one,” he accused. “What did you think I meant by ‘treating you’?”

He dropped the knife with a clang against the hardwood floor, then stripped her of her hoodie, shirt, and bra, the latter two of which were now ruined. Yet Lenore didn’t seem fazed. He lifted her and felt her legs wrap around his waist just above his hips, and he carried her upstairs while his lips and teeth worked at her hardening nipples. By the time he got her to the bed, she was already shimmying out of the rest of her clothes, Damon making short work of his own.

She was like a little animal, clawing and rolling with him, biting lightly like a paper cut, as if she wanted to be bad but only dared this much. Damon let her have her fun for a bit, having already decided what his best revenge would be. He toyed with her breasts, gently rubbed her pussy, trailing the abundant juices back to her breasts again. She kept getting wilder, crying out and whimpering, a truly gorgeous, little monster if ever there was one.

He entered her, sliding his cock in and out and coating it in her slick honey. Then he exited entirely and felt Lenore reach down to guide him back in. He took her wrist and held it above her head, used his other hand to prop her backside up off the mattress, then pressed the tip of his cock against the puckered hole nestled between her cheeks.

Lenore bucked up off the bed and met his eyes with an angry glare, her fingernails like claws against his face.

“No!” he shouted at her, pressing her back into the bed. “My way or no way at all. If you want to be an animal, then you’ll get fucked like one.”

He waited and watched her wilt under his stare. Then he began again, easing his cock into that tight place, tighter than her pussy, unrelenting as he’d known it would be.

“You need this,” he insisted, groaning against the resistance. “You’ll thank me.”

Lenore was whimpering and clawing still. The pressure was incredible and kept growing. Every thrust inward was an immense build in tension, and every thrust out was an unspeakable relief. Then she felt his fingers go into her dripping pussy, his thumb against her jutting, stiff button. He bent and put his mouth to her breasts, against her neck, tugging and kissing and licking.

Her arms shook as she held on, and finally she asked with tears in her eyes and a near total lack of breath, “What are you do… why?”

“Loosen up,” was his brief answer. And indeed that was it. She wanted to explore. Well, they were exploring. Clearly this was an uncharted depth of her body, and he could almost feel it bringing more to the surface than they had anticipated.

He was slow, never too quick, following the heated shudders she was giving off. He was beginning to think they’d just discovered a new kink Lenore hadn’t even known she had. By the way she arched and writhed, she was definitely enjoying herself. And that tremble in her flesh, the tears that came to the surface. Finally, the way she came. It was full of sweat and screams, her climax. Damon couldn’t conceivably hold back when her entire body clenched and practically strangled his cock, and a series of spurts shot deep inside her.

He pulled out and laughed at the audible pop his exit made. He stretched out at her side and watched as she panted up at the ceiling, wide-eyed.

“Do you even remember where you are?” he asked, cocky and sated. When she didn’t answer, he went on to ask, “So how did it feel?”

“Like an enema,” she sighed. “But you’ve already warned me about pretending not to enjoy myself when I did…”

“You did,” he said, grinning.


End file.
